In Too Deep
by fantasticly-anonymous
Summary: The captain of the U.S.S. Starship Enterprise wakes up in sickbay. Again. This time though... things are dangerously serious. Judging by the look on the Vulcan first officer's face. Or... really it could just be gas. Toss up really. Rated T for some swearing and some mention of blood and injury. Nothing too graphic!


**Yo folks, Happy New Year! To reign in the beginning of 2013 I am posting this here completely new story! Don't tell my sis but, this is part of her Christmas present from me!  
Now, about the story; Please enjoy!  
**

His eyes were opening for what feet like the first time in a long, long while. The first thing that came into focus, against a backdrop of stark white ceiling panels - which he recognized as belonging to the small private med room which his crabby doctor kept open specifically for him - was the face of his first officer. As always, set in the quintessential Vulcan mask which, even having known the guy for a few years, proved difficult to read through.

"Spock?" Jim forced through a dry throat, watching as his first officer pulled back from leaning directly over him and sat himself in the chair stationed right next to the biobed.

"Captain, I came as soon as duties permitted. Dr. McCoy informed me 1.2 hours ago that your vitals were improving and that you would soon regain consciousness. As always, his medical analysis proved reliably accurate."  
It was somewhat difficult, through all the cotton in his head, for Jim to muscle past the stiff wording, but he got the gist of it.

"Alright. You're here. What are you doing here? Actually, what are either of us doing here?" " He hoped the scrunched nature of his brow would bring about a prompt explanation.

"Dr. McCoy estimated that you would prefer to hear any news regarding your current condition from someone you hold in extreme confidence. Seeing as he is otherwise indisposed I was the only available alternative." The Vulcan's face stayed as blank as a clean chalkboard as he studied the now disgruntled man on the biobed.  
Same old Spock but somehow, something about him looked a little… off.  
Damn medical lighting.

"_What_ news, Spock?" Spoken with barely restrained annoyance.

"Dr. McCoy advised I 'let him down easy'." With a minute shake of the head he added, "Human language is replete with such nonsensical expressions." Then his focus changed. He readjusted so he sat at the very edge of his seat and reached out toward the bed.

Jim looked down and was shocked to the core by what he couldn't believe he was seeing: His hand, being taken in Spock's.  
He was pretty sure that Spock had some sort of 'problem' with hand on hand contact so, for the Vulcan to touch his, there must have been something serious- some something horrifying enough that the reserved, stiff backed first officer was compelled to show some genuine concern for his captain.

"The doctor also extolled the merits of speaking in gentle, confidant tones and instructed that, if necessary, I was to, 'hold his hand and walk him through it'.  
"You are looking rather concerned, Captain. Is this helping?" He asked, indicating their joined appendages.  
So much for genuine concern.  
The human kind anyway.

Jim wanted nothing more - nothing in the _world_ could have pleased him more - than for his first officer to **get on with it**. He had a deep respect for the guy. He might even go so far as to say he held a sort of sympathy for the Vulcan. Having never himself known his father, never really having a home, gave him a small insight to what his first officer must have been going through over the past few years.  
Having to deal with the death of his mother and his home planet _and_ a few billion pointy eared people he'd never met yet still felt responsible for- and Jim _knew_ Spock felt responsible for those deaths. He knew it just like he knew that that was exactly how _he _would feel. How he had felt. How he _still_ felt.

Every time he looked at that Vulcan face from across the bridge, caught that far-away look which he had long since figured out translated to 'sad'- no matter what Spock said to the contrary, his heart pulled a muscle and his throat tightened. Because he knew that somewhere, in some alternate dimension, there was a Spock who had lived a life filled with his humans mother's love and a strong, proud planet to return to whenever he felt lost out among the countless stars and planets of the galaxy.

Jim had felt Spock's sadness, guilt and rage after all. Only hours after Nero, of an alternate universe's Romulus, had destroyed the Vulcan home world, out of a twisted need for revenge against that same alternate universe's Spock.  
Delta Vega…To think that if Spock hadn't marooned him there, he likely would never have met Montgomery Scott or the Scott's… 'interesting' friend Keensir.

He still hadn't worked up the courage - or stupidity - to breech the subject with _this_ universe's Spock but...he had experienced something completely unexplainable and **insane** in that frozen cave and...he thought, just maybe, Spock would understand.  
He also thought that maybe, that weird mind-transfer-thing had something to do with this universe's Spock's contempt for the human greeting ritual of "shaking hands". Or maybe it was- no, that was probably it.

He wasn't certain whether the two Spocks had met. Seeing as there existed the off chance that such a meeting could, itself, bring about some form of retributive black hole - mother nature did tend to be a royal bitch when you messed with her precious "laws of physics" - _and_ taking into consideration what the old, wrinkled Spock had told him about the young Spock needing to never ever learn of his existence, Jim figured it was an unlikely thing.  
Still, in the face of all that heavy, universe ending seriousness he couldn't help thinking that maybe, if his first officer knew that he wasn't the only one of himself in the universe - that there was someone else out there who felt just as responsible and ultimately guilty as he did- maybe, he wouldn't look so torn up when he thought no one was around to see.

Besides that, Jim hated keeping secrets and, hey, he'd felt those things too! By proxy _and_ because he was a flawed human who had the audacity to think the universe revolved around him and that he should be able to prevent things like; planets blowing up under his watch. And Spock, being half human, must then - by Jim's figuring - also share in those flawed human traits. Humans, aside from Jim Kirk of course, needed people with whom they could speak about such feelings and if they instead denied the existence of said unstable emotional state; the incident in which Spock went medieval on his captain in front of the entire bridge staff - not unprovoked though - made for a good mental reminder of the dangers of non-communication.

Of course, Spock had Uhura. But Kirk knew next to nothing about their life together. The two of them were as tight lipped about their relationship as a couple cheating on their respective spouses. The captain had a hunch that, even if Uhura and Spock _did_ talk about such things, she wouldn't be able to understand where he was coming from and _that_ was nearly as important.

Somehow though, through all the trials and tribulations of adjusting to a new way of life and - for one of the sad threesome - even a whole new universe, they'd all managed to hold it together.  
Separately. On there owns, even thought two of them lived on the same starship.  
It wasn't as if they'd formed some sort of support group for the emotionally out of depth after all.

No, like any responsible group of emotionally disturbed adults they had dutifully swept the painful memories and unwanted notions of inadequacy under the proverbial rug and continued serving admirably. In whatever their respective responsibilities turned out to be.  
All while facing life threatening crisis, an emotionally forward spitfire of a girlfriend, Kahn, coming back from the dead and many other potentially traumatizing things life in the service chucked their way.  
The one unpredictable thing over those last few years that had really gotten the Enterprise's Captain sweating - and _nearly_ missing sleep though - was not an inescapable worm hole or the possibility that every mission could be their last. It also wasn't due to an overtaxed adrenal gland. It was much more serious than that.  
After the whole Nero incident - as soon as it was clear the Enterprise would once again be ship shape - it had been the prospect of having to pull out of space dock without his arch nemesis standing at attention on the science section of the bridge. His Vulcan first officer, who was to double as science officer, was… absent.  
Jim floundered with the prospect of appointing two new officers when what he wanted- what the Enterprise _deserved_, was physically within reach yet, at the same time, seemingly unattainable.

He passed Spock in the halls of Starfleet Academy every other day and on those days his greetings were met with a stiff nod and a swift departure.

The deucedly aggravating part of it all was Spock's refusal to give a straight answer regarding his coming or quiting. Ever more torturous was how very, _painfully_ obvious it was that he wanted to go. He truly wanted, with all his heart, to board the Enterprise and go boldly to places where no one had gone before. His scientific curiosity could not be sated anywhere other than on such a vessel, out in space, traveling so far that home became but a blip on a chart. But sadly, the universe was telling Spock that he had a different role to play…and it was tearing him apart. The human half from the Vulcan.

The surviving Vulcans, including the Vulcan High Council, following the destruction of the majority of their species and their home planet had made a galaxy wide petition to any and all off world brethren to return home and contribute in the rebuilding and re-establishment of their race on the desert planet designated, 'New Vulcan'.  
Obviously, that was the Vulcan equivalent of, _"We need help! All Vulcans report to Vulcan 2.0! It is time to leave logic to the wayside and repopulate! That's right, we need as many Vulcan babies as the laws of physics will permit and we need them NOW!"_

Reports of resignations from Vulcans holding all kinds of positions and jobs came in from areas both far removed and within the stronghold of the Federation. It made the possibility of Spock resigning seem all too tangible. All too likely.

As the date of the Enterprise's launch approached Jim spent more and more of his time on pins and needles, awaiting an answer from Spock which didn't include the same old equivocatory language the poor bastard had been throwing around over those last few strained weeks.

_"Captain, my duty is to my people. I cannot abandon them in this hour of need."_

_"My father is a member of the Vulcan High Council. It would negatively affect his standing if the son of Sarek were to turn his back on the rebuilding efforts to remain an acting officer in Starfleet."_

_"It would not be the logical choice. Not when there are so few of us left."_ All spoken while the Vulcan danced on restless feet, eyes searching for the most expedient escape route.

But then, in the nick of time, the Vulcan had reported for duty, taking his rightful place on the bridge of the enterprise. His decision surprised Jim but, at the same time, he'd seen it coming. After all; once you get a taste of the kind of freedom a ship such as the Enterprise has to offer, how could you ever refuse her? The two of them - and indeed the entire crew - were under her spell and nothing, not even death itself, could tear them away. Not for long at least. A fact tried and tested by the whole Kahn fiasco.

And then Jim came back to the present. Back to a biobed in a private room at the back of sickbay. Back to the worrying reality of his staunch first officer holding his hand as he tried his Vulcan best to break his captain some sort of bad news.  
All of that- that convoluted, twisted train of thought, from one innocuous gesture of support. The realization left Jim reeling. Was he really so bad off- so hopelessly sick that a little hand holding sent his life flashing before his eye? The depressing parts anyway.  
What was it that Spock was taking so damn long to say!?

Jim tore his gaze from the hand clasping his and swallowed- which turned out to be much harder than he remembered it was supposed to be. Then he found the wherewithal to respond.

"Sure Spock, I feel...comforted. Now, for the love of _god_, please explain whatever it is you were sent here to explain!" He'd known he was taking a huge risk with the phrasing, but he was tired of waiting for the Vulcanness to be through with!  
The sudden tweak of Spock's brow proved his concern well grounded.

"Captain, are you attempting to invoke the favors of the human god? It has been well established through years of research carried out by designated focus groups of devout and atheistic humans alike that adoration of any such deity, spoken or otherwise, will not change the outcome of a given situation. Nor has it been proven to any set of standards that it will persuade a god or godlike being into swaying fate or the laws of physics in one's favor.  
"Proper estimation of force and or technique, simple attentiveness and a clear and sound, logical perspective on the other hand, have been proven to positively impact situations in which one might feel the need to petition outside forces for help.  
" Besides that, the existence of such a god has yet to be proven."

"Spock," Jim pleaded, "it's an expression. Now please, **please** just tell me what Bones sent you to say." Spock only went on like that when he was disturbed. Spock didn't disturb easily.

"Captain," he paused. "Jim, perhaps a visual demonstration will help to expedite matters. Our hand holding and indeed the 'let him down gently' method do not seem to be obtaining the desired results." He stood then and as Jim gazed up at the Vulcan he felt the blood drain from his own face.  
Sure, he'd been able to see Spock when the Vulcan was seated but… standing brought a whole new perspective and with that new perspective, the infirmed man laying in the biobed came to understand why he'd earlier thought the Vulcan looked a little… off. How late in coming the realization was though, was nearly as disturbing as the sight before him.

"Spock, that uniform's- !"

"That is correct Captain," Spock said in response to the visible signs of a human mental melt down in it's early stages playing all over his captain's face. "I have been acting captain of this ship, the U.S.S. Enterprise, for the duration of your stay here in sickbay.  
"That, Jim, is why I am wearing-"

"**My** uniform!" Had he really been so caught up in- Christ! How could he not notice something so fundamentally wrong as _Spock_, of all people, wearing a gold command shirt? Complete with the captain's bars on the cuffs!?  
The Vulcan was so innocently confused, _looking_ at him made Jim's stomach writhe harder.

"Captain, this is not your uniform. An ensign replicated this to my height and size specifications when it became clear that-"

"Alright Spock! Alright. What's the damage?" A quirk of the Vulcan's brow and Jim knew he'd set the guy off again.

"To what damage are you referring, Captain?" Jim's head nearly exploded with the pent in frustration but, miracle of miracles, he managed to address his first officer - or replacement or whatever the hell he was - with a calm, if not hyper concerned, exterior.

"The damage that Dr. McCoy sent you to 'give to him gently'." A small nod of understanding and Jim was that much closer to the answers he was working **way** too hard for.

"Those were not the doctors exact words-"

"Spock! What the _hell_ is wrong with me?" He kept it under a shout. Easy enough when the guy sent to ease you through waking up didn't have the sense to provide a sip of water unless you asked for it by alchemic composition. A failing accreditable to his Vulcan half no doubt.

The expression of unsureness, the way the Vulcan's eyes twitched around the _vicinity_ of his captain's face and the way he was beginning to shift his weight back and forth; Jim was sure Spock was then more uncomfortable than he'd ever seen him before. Clearly a failing attributable to his human half.

"There are questions I am to ask of you before…Dr. McCoy insisted it so." That was downright wrong. A Vulcan who couldn't finish a sentence properly.

"Ugh, fine! What's the nosy bastard want to know?" That got Spock to quit fidgeting and look him in the eye.

"First: How are you feeling?"

"Are you kidding me?" At the ceiling high eyebrows he received he dove headlong into damage control. It was **necessary**. "I know you're being serious; it's a figure of speech and alright! I'll give you your precious information."  
He settled, trying his best to look as if he wasn't right on the verge of jumping out of bed and strangling the Vulcan.  
"My head's full of cotton- _feels_ like it's full of cotton." He cut that one off at the pass as well. "Now that I think about it, there's this pounding going on- I'm assuming in my head?"

"That is most likely, Captain."

"Yeah, thought so. Right, also feels like I went ten rounds with…some famous guy who was good at beating other guys to a pulp. You pick a name."

"Professional entertainer or do you perhaps mean _infamous_ fighter?" Jim couldn't help but smile at that. A smile of utter disbelief.

"Neither- either- just, drop it- no! Let's go with George Foreman." He **_had_** to give a name, so he pulled a semi-random one from his memory banks and just prayed that he's gotten the field right. He hoped it wasn't the name of some holy pacifist at least.

"Ah, a boxer with a good fight record and heavy hands. Is that all, Captain?"

"Yeah, next question?" A nod and the first officer held onto his calm poise, likely only because he had something to do.

"Second: Do you recall the events leading up to your admittance to sickbay and if so what were they?" Yep, this was Spock's element. Anything boring.  
The captain wracked his brain for what felt like two straight minutes and came away with a vague picture of the days events.

"Started out, normal day. Then things start exploding outside and inside the ship. Yellow alert goes into affect, artificial gravity…runs out and…a rogue bulkhead tries to make mashed potatoes with my brains." Hearing his statement out loud was very different from thinking it. "Am I on pain meds?"

"Yes." Simple. To the point. Just like he should have been all along. Damn the Vulcan's heart!

"Oookay, no more questions?" With patience once again running close to empty he prayed that the next thing out of that Vulcan's mouth would somehow be something he _wanted_ to hear. Otherwise he could not be held responsible for his actions from that point on.

"One more, Captain: What was the Terran calendar date of the incident in question?" That was the last straw!

"Spock, tell me what Bones wanted me to know. Now."

"Dr. McCoy requested you answer all his questions before-"

"Cut the crap Spock and just **_tell me_**-"

"Captain, this is the last question. It is the last stipulation set forth by your attending physician. After you answer you will receive the answers _you_ seek." And if the Vulcan had the _ability_ to look any more miserable than he did in that moment Jim might have felt just the tiniest ping of guilt over giving him a hard time. He was just carrying out instructions and he couldn't - _apparently_ couldn't at least - help it that his Vulcan sensibilities made him one of the absolute worst hand-holders in the _cosmos_. The poor guy was second only to the doctor himself when it came to bad bedside manners.

"Fine. March 30th of…Why earth calendar anyway? That's not Starfleet standard."

"Dr. McCoy assured me that that date would hold deep significance to you, when I informed you that-" And queue the only distraction of the entire meeting- at _exactly_ the moment in which the Vulcan was finally beginning to be bearable.

The door slid open behind Spock, who turned, giving Jim a face full of Dr. McCoy rushing in with disinfectant gel still drying over his 'fresh from surgery' hands; his face caught up in that ever present scowl the crew had finally grown used to.

"Jim, you're awake?!"

"Bones! God, is that blood?! And what is that _smell_!" He'd have pinched his nose if his arms weren't so heavy. He'd also have jumped off the biobed and punched the doctor square on the jaw for leaving him to the whims of an obsessive compulsive Vulcan. And he would have too! If the situation had been in any way either of their faults.

"Emergency C-section out in the main room. Surprised you didn't here it; the babies got real loud about wanting to stay right where they were. Their mother was none to pleased about that- she was actually more help through the procedure than the nurse-"

"Bones, that's great and all- send the happy mother my regards but… am I dying?" The doctor looked to Spock with a disaproving tilt to his head. Which was no different from the way he generally looked at him so really, that could have meant anthying. Or nothing, for that matter.

"What have you been telling him?" He asked as he covered the short space between him and them.

"Doctor, as per your request, I was awa-" A smart clap on the shoulder silenced him…and smeared some gel on the impeccable golden sleeve.

"Vulcans; can't tell the difference between rhetorical if their lives depend on it." If Jim was not mistaken, there was a sliver of endearment hidden somewhere in that statement. The prospect was strangely creepy.  
Spock's look of perplexed discomfort continued as the doctor turned to the bio bed and addressed it's occupant.  
"Jim, you remember what the date was of the accident? The Earth calendar date?"

"Why the _hell_ is that the only thing people seem to care about around here!" At the rooms lack of an answer, or sympathy for his impossible plight, he gave them what they wanted. "God, it was March 30th of- Why the Earth calendar?" Spock spoke up then.

"As I was relaying just before Dr. McCoy joined us; the date will hold significance once you hear-" And McCoy butted in loudly enough to cancel out any more of Spock's voice.

"**Once** you hear that that was the date exactly thirty-six hours ago." Jim was_ more_ than utterly bewildered by that information. Not to mention by the manic look of…self-satisfaction slowly claiming McCoy's face. "That's a day and a half, Jim." The captain looked to Spock, who had at least made _some_ sense over the course of his own butchered attempts at explaining things..

"That would make today the first day of your Earth calendar's fourth month." The Vulcan looked more relieved delivering that news than McCoy had no doubt looked upon delivery of-whatever kind of babies it was that he'd had the misfortune of attending.  
"Captain, may I be the first to wish you a merry April Fool's Day."

"Bones?" Jim said, regarding the doctor with a heavily furrowed brow.

"That's right Jim! You're not dying- for god's sake man! I didn't think the Vulcan would play you _that_ hard!" And he broke down into uncontrolled convulsions, shoulders shaking and his knees trembled so badly that the doctor had no choice but to take the seat opposite Spock's by the other side of the biobed.  
He was not in control of his body.  
There was nothing for it, they'd all three just need to wait until the laughing fit ran it's course. Until then, he was useless. A quivering pool of gelatin waiting to be scooped up into the waiting jaws of karmatic justice.

All through that, Jim fought to keep the red- the **deep **redness he could feel building up inside from betraying his feelings of utter and complete betrayal. And humiliation.

Spock was lifting not a finger so he'd have to try and snap the doc. out of it himself. "Bones. Bones!" He called with as much indignance as he could possibly muster.

"Oh, Jim! 'Am I dying?' That was more perfect than I could've imagined! Oh, oh, Spock! I don't know what you told him but I tip my hat to you, partner. That was _the_ best - bar non - reaction to an April Fool's Prank I have ever seen! Ha ha!" And he slapped a knee out of pure glee as Spock turned a shade greener. "Better'n the time my uncle- oh! Believe me Spock; what we just- what _you_ just accomplished is a thing that would make you the envy of over half of the fun loving population of my home planet! Oh, I'm still lovin' your face Jim! Ha ha!"

"Bones..."

"Yeah kid, yeah I know," said the doctor, suddenly on the cusp of sobriety. "Scared ya real good, didn't we? Made ya question why you call us monumental jerks 'friends', right?"  
As accurate as Jim had to admit Bones' estimation was, he failed to see where he was going with it. He nodded and let the doc continue.  
"Although, Spock's really more of a victim in this than a co-conspirator."

"Conspirator? Doctor? Do you mean to say that this display was _not_ as you said, 'An important and highly ritualized custom of the Terran people which may only be enacted on the first day of the fourth month of-" Jim did the merciful thing for all of them and cut the guy off before he strained something.

"Okay, I believe you Bones! You duped him. Spock is guiltless." The first officer turned wounded eyes once again to the doctor.

"Duped? Dr. McCoy is this a part of the custom I was not made aware of?  
"This is proving far more complicated your initial explanation would have it seem. I saw the merit and perhaps honor of being selected for this part in your Terran tradition but I cannot dispel the unpleasant taste that the half-truths necessary for the 'set-up' have left in my mouth."  
"I feel that I should have been given time to incorporate a study of the history of this Terran ritual into my preparations." His mouth was running a mile a minute now that it wasn't being held to the constrictions set by McCoy's cruel game. Right then, it hit Jim. That that exactly, especially what Spock had just said, was the reason for his unbelievably good acting. The explanation for his extreme unease concerning the entire situation, his reverting to an older version of Spock which had the capacity to understand next to zero human turns of phrase. His masterful show of deception was orchestrated by a true master of manipulation and made possible only by his ignorance of the true prerogative of the holiday; humiliation.  
Spock would never have agreed to take part in such an illogical waste of time if he'd been allowed to…research it first.  
Nope, this was 100% McCoy.

"Spock- Spock, Spock! Relax before you give yourself a tied tongue. You did good! The fun's over with and you can go about your duties as soon as yo-"

"Pardon me doctor, but do you mean to say I did 'well' or are you expressing-"

"No Spock! You're right! You did very well. Exceptionally well in fact but now is the part of the- thing, where I explain _why_ we did what we did to the targeted party." At that Spock seemed to perk up some.

"Very well doctor, I would also like to hear your reasoning."

"Yeah Bones, what's your _reasoning_ behind all this? Why, in god's name, would you wanna put us through this kind of torment?"

"Oh, no you don't! You little- you don't get to do that! I wanted to put _you_ through it and since Spock is part of- well...part of the group, he had to be part of this." The other two males in the room raised their brow in unison, tripping up the doctor for all of 1.2 seconds.  
Addressing his co-conspirator he added, "**He** needed this," with a thumb jabbing in Jim Kirk's direction "and if you were human you'd agree."

"Are you saying that I am incapable of seeing the logic in this situation? Please doctor; present the facts." Clearly a challenge made as rebuttal to a _perceived_ challenge. It sped things up a little anyway.

"As I was saying earlier!" His scowl deepened in the Vulcan's direction a second more before being turned, full force on the unsuspecting man on the bio bed.  
"This make you feel like shit, Jim? Like we're more trouble and worry than we're worth? Like you'd rather kill us than spend one more minute having your feelings disregarded by your so called 'friends'?" There he paused.

"Yeah! Sorta…listen Bones, Spock; I don't hate you guys for having fun but... that was cruel. You guys gotta lighten up with the subject matter. You almost gave me a heart attack." It must have been something he said because the irritated Dr. McCoy quickly became the incensed Dr. McCoy and that guy was a much less pleasant person to share a room with.

"Fun my foot! This wasn't about _fun_, was it Spock?" The addressed party hooked an eyebrow.

"The chosen phrasing of your question seems to indicate that it was not meant to be, but up until it was asked I had been under the impression that 'fun' was an inherent facet of this Fool's Day tradition." Well, at least he was as befuddled as Jim. Otherwise Jim woulda felt left out.

"You're no help, ya clueless, green-blooded hobgoblin." But his conviction to the statement was lacking, already committed elsewhere. His fiery eyes again came to rest on Jim's confused one's. Then he gave a big McCoy sigh and hung his head. "Kid… Jim, you remember a day and a half ago? What went down and how, why?"

"Sorta." The incapacitated captain gave a small shrug. "Things started blowing up and the artificial gravity quit and suddenly my head was close as is physically possible to existing as _part_ of the bulkhead."

"Yeah, that's what happened. From _your_ perspective maybe." The doc said with an accusatory finger jabbing the air in Jim's direction.. "From Spock's and my point of view, things started blowing up and Jim Kirk - the royal idiot- decided to take the most dangerous, reckless set of decisions at his disposal and enact them in the most unethical sequence possible." He scrubbed both his hands over his eyes and through his almost kempt hair.  
"When the yellow alert came on, you retracted your seat harness - which, by the way, you'd ordered everyone to keep on until the ship was stabilized - and dashed across the bridge to punch a button that the ensign sitting right in _front_ of it could more easily have done.  
"Then the gravity cut out, the ship was blown for a loop and we were stuck in our seats, watching your blood bubble around the room as we wondered whether we'd be able to fit that much brain matter back into your skull once we had it all scraped off the walls."  
Oh. Is that where he'd been taking the conversation?

"I too found your actions to be overtly self-destructive. There were several instances during the course of the incident wherein I was in awe of your lack of precautions taken in the direction of self-preservation," Spock interposed, eyes bouncing between the two other officers.

"See Jim, we're agreeing with each other," Bones said with a thumb flipping between the two of them. " and that's something I generally try to avoid.  
"I understand that, with that serum I synthesized from Kahn's blood coursing through your veins you can come back form almost anything but, Jim; we have no idea how long something like that can hold out. Or whether the effects will be completely permanent.  
"When you disregard your own well being and flip safety the bird, we're the one's who have to clean up the mess. We chew our nails and pray to god - no Spock, I'm not saying you worship a human fable - that you didn't end up killing yourself…_this time_. And Jim, for me at least, that's the worst part."  
Spock chipped in his two cents while the doctor took a breather.

"There are countless occasions on which I can quote you saying, 'Next time I'll play it safe, don't worry about it'. Sadly, there is only one occasion so far on which that promise was kept and seeing as it was a non-combat situation I believe it falls under the category of 'doesn't count'." Spock was back to his white washed, neutral expression _finally_ but his voice was somehow less crisp than usual. The words lacked their normal defined edge.

"You talking about the Christmas party? Because there was _no way_ I was going to take him up on that dare."

"Jim, shut up and listen to us for one god damned minute!" The doctor wasn't quite shouting but it got the attention just as well. McCoy was very good at that. "Spock's got it right on the nose; that is exactly my point! Every time you throw yourself into a high stakes poker game, surrounded by a bunch of loan sharks hungry to take down the fish with no money to his name…your betraying your friends. Your lying straight to our faces and you'll keep doing it again and again and again until something gives. And I'm afraid that if that something doesn't give soon…I will. **_And _**if you don't start holding to your word, Spock here won't be able to trust you in _any_ situation," he gestured at the uncomfortable Vulcan to emphasize the point.  
"Also, I'd rather that 'something' not be your spine."

Something crazy happened at the end of that rant; Spock gave life to an emotion. Or at least, that's how it seemed from up close. His eyes clouded by something resembling remorse and his shoulders hanging haphazardly by his sides, he could have passed for an abandoned puppy. A six foot tall one with hands like vices and an IQ which likely couldn't be quantified by human tests. Yes, he fit the bill to a T.

"Jim, Leonard is correct. If we are to go on working as a team, supporting each other and certainly _your_ decisions as captain aboard the Enterprise, there must be present a strong sense of trust. I am…ashamed somehow in admitting that my faith in you has waned over these past 4.1 months and perhaps even more so by the fact that I could not trust my own judgment well enough to confront you on the issue.  
"The Enterprise deserves a fearless, bold leader, Captain. What she does not deserve, is a dead one. Also, I do not believe that Leonard nor myself have done anything to deserve an absent friend."  
The three of them let that testimony ring a while. It wasn't every day a Vulcan admitting freely to having something so scathing as an emotional attachment to a human, let alone to two humans. Though he hadn't _said_ just that…he _had_ said just that, and even he was reeling from the implications.

"Spock,"

"Yes, Captain?"

"…Thanks. That means a lot coming from you." He allowed a pause of about a second. Just short enough that no one would have a chance to interrupt. "Now, will you _please_ take off that captain's uniform? Gold isn't your best color." Truth is it had been throwing him off ever since he'd first noticed the first officer was wearing it. Made his skin the wrong color. And reminded Jim of how close that had likely come to being the new norm. If memory served, he _had_ come pretty close to dying just the other day.  
Maybe the unlikely team had managed to sink something home in him after all.

"Forgive me captain, right away," he said. But right away had to wait, as it was obvious by the way the Vulcan scrunched his face that there was still something bothering him.

"Yes, Spock?" Jim, sighed.

"I was unaware that one could have a 'best color', Captain." Jim nearly laughed at the amount of confusion he could cause with such a simple, everyday, human turn of phrase. He settled for placating the poor guy.

"Don't worry about it Spock. Blue's your best color anyway." he said, with no small amount of fondness. " You may return to your duties now. The 'tradition' is complete."

"...Aye sir." With a still befuddled expression and a tip of the head to the chief medical officer, he excited the private recovery room. Jim caught a glimpse of a blonde nurse who he had to admit, made the medical staff uniform look **really** good - before the door shut itself.  
Nurse chapel, he was almost positive.

He turned his pounding head to confront his Cheif MO.  
"Bones,"

"…Yeah, Jim?"

"I hate you."

"Yeah well, I've hated you since I first laid eyes on you and that was before you'd ever even heard of me!"

"Bones, we met on a shuttle headed for Starfleet. We saw each other at the same time. Well, virtually the same time."

"Oh no you don't! I pulled your ass out of a bar fight three Andorians deep two weeks before that. Right before you could pass out and let them kill you."

Jims eyes shifted around the physician's peeved face, looking for a tell. "Bullshit."

"Don't say I never did you any favors," Bones said with a finger pointed straight at Jim's suddenly highly amused face.

"You never did me any favors. I have no idea what you think you're talking about, man. There were no Andorians in that bar, _ever_, and I definitely never saw you before that shuttle ride."

"This is exactly why I never brought it up before! You were so god awful drunk I was surprised you didn't just die of alcohol poisonin' right then and there!  
"Sat there watching you drink amber as if you needed that stuff worse than you needed air for the better part of an hour. Not natural. Then, when it looked like you were finally leaving, you went and insulted a big blue guy who just so happened to have two big blue friends with him.  
"Couldn't rightly let them kill ya so I pretended to know you and agreed that you were an uncouth idiot and they let us go in peace."

With a pair of infinitely shiftier eyes, Jim imparted his opinion:

"Bullshit."

The sound of them going 'round and 'round in that demented circuit which they liked to call, 'a friendly conversation' both disturbed and comforted the communications officer who "just so happened" to be monitoring the hospital comms that whole entire day.  
She swung her seat around to face her Vulcan partner, who just so happened to be extremely impressive that day, now sitting in the captains chair and doing a perfect job of filling in for the injured Captain James T. Kirk. As he had for the past day and a half.  
Only now, she couldn't help wrinkling her nose at the gold captains uniform which had been replicated for him earlier that day _and_ which - she had to agree with Kirk - was _not_ his best color.

vvvvvvvvvvVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVvvvvvvvvvvVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVvvvvvvvvvvvVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVvvvvvvvvvvvvvv.

The next day found the three of them again crowded around the one and the same biobed and deep in conversation. This time though there were a few significant differences. Such as there lunch! As well as the tone of their interactions. Wolds removed from the deadly topics of the last day's arguments, now the meeting was a much more innocuous bit of fun.

"So I argued then that the 'fool' should then be Ensign Riley, owing to his propensity for over-imbibing and subsequent late night, drunken roamings of the halls. Unerringly accompanied by countless renditions of archaic earth songs replete with such themes including but not limited to; love, women the singer deems to be 'pretty' and one woman in particular by the name of 'Kathleen'."

"You stay on top of such goings on, First Officer Spock?" Jim quipped.

"Yeah, I wouldn't think a _Vulcan_ would be so interested in the comings and goings of drunken crewmen," McCoy chirped with a glint of glee in his voice. Well…his equivalent of glee anyway.

"You would be correct in your thinking Doctor. Unfortunately, the ensign's quarters are on the same deck, same wing, as my own and he appears to enjoy circling that particular piece of territory. I theorize that the familiarity of the area gives him a sense of security, reminding him of home perhaps."

"Spock, your guess is as good as mine," McCoy assured.  
The Vulcan looked as if there was a point he wished to argue concerning the good doctor's statement but he got no further than a slightly opened mouth before thinking better of it. Instead he nodded and turned attention back to their captain.

"The Dr. bade me yield to his first hand knowledge of the tradition and so, you were selected. Though, why the Dr. sees you as the 'biggest fool on the whole damn ship,' I have yet to understand."

"Why, thank you Spock. That means a lot coming from you."

"…Do not mention it Captain," came the somewhat puzzled acknowledgement.

"Jim,"

"Yeah, Bones?"

"I hate you."

The sounds of raucous laughter filled the Lieutenant Uhura's ears as she hummed a ditty her daddy'd once sang to her back on earth.  
It was a happy coincidence that the communications officer had been monitoring medical's comms that day as well. A certain Vulcan certainly hadn't dropped a clue as to where he would be spending his lunch time after all.  
Although Spock's voice wasn't at that moment among the two ringing around in her earpiece she could still feel her Vulcan lover's joy from all the way across ship at her comms station and that, along with all their good natured arguing and even the - mostly - happy shoutings of the other two, kept her humming that happy little tune all afternoon.

_Live long and prosper, my Nyota._

_Long life and happiness, my Spock_

**Happy New Year everybody! Hope you enjoyed all of that and I hope the coming year treats you like the diamonds in the sky you all are!**

**Please, also feel free to leave a comment, review or even just shout 'hi' in my direction.  
Note: If you want to shout 'hello' I will likely hear you much more clearly if you do so in the form of an electronically transmitted missive than if you literally shout it at your laptop/computer devicey thing. Just putting that out there. : )  
**

******I intend to continue this story but, as anyone who has read and/or is following my other Star Trek fic undoubtedly knows, I am not timely with updates. Therefore, I am perfectly content if anyone wants to view this as a stand alone. Just be aware that I may someday post more chapters! Hee hee! **

**Thanks for reading and once again, many happy returns on this first day of the new year and each and every one that follows. : D**

**Sincerely, Anonymous**


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